duskclan I'LL LOVE THE WORLD — homesick

[Thriftfeather]

It strikes him at odd moments that this—brittle grasses and dry grounds—may be where he spends the rest of his life.

Thriftfeather had thought the same of WindClan, for a time. It had been an unnervingly empty horizon and the long shadow cast by Ghostwail for so long that the very thought of growing up there was enough to send him skittering into a silent spiral. Now, his heart aches for those days. He finds a countless number of things to miss: moorsong and crickets, strong-scented purple towers that would sprout from any available space as Greenleaf eased into its height, the way the wind could be seen by the way rows of grass would fold in its wake. Looking back, Thriftfeather finds it harder and harder to recall just how trapped he had felt surrounding by that thorn-filled gorse barrier surrounding camp.

It had been, despite everything, because of everything, home.

"We can't stay like this forever," Thriftfeather speaks too loud; he cannot stand the silence, "Eventually—we'll need to take back camp eventually."

He had thought that they just needed time enough to gather themselves and to lick their wounds. He had assumed DuskClan—the true WindClan, if such a thing could exist—would have returned home before now. This, the stagnation, waiting on dry grounds with his ears folded, does nothing to ease his ever-growing doubts. Thriftfeather, at once, wants to believe in DuskClan if it would mean he could believe in returning to their proper camp. As always, as is typical, Thriftfeather's overwhelming want for belief is unable to pierce the most jaded parts of his heart.

"The moors had always been meant for us." ​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 15 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[PRIVETFROST]

Privetpaw never had the privilege to lament a lost life, for all that the boy knew was within the sagebrushes of Duskclan. The apprentice had heard of whistling winds, like a storm winding down to the earth, the might of nature feared yet respected all the same. The cool breeze belonged not to Windclan but to Duskclan. To steal the very gales straight from their breaths was a crime unforgiven by those that infested the moors. He had heard of clear skies, with pipe dreams traded for starry nights, never marred by soot-tinged branches and brackens. Privetpaw often prayed, but perhaps his prayers had gotten tangled within the maze of curling and bracing stems. To seize the very stars straight from their eyes was a punishment unbefitting righteous rulers. He had heard of pops of colorful florets, as though the calm of springtide spiraled from the ground, the grace of newleaf's flesh coming forth. He hardly saw much hue here, even upon the cleanest and quietest day. To dry the very colors straight from their paws was a cruelty that even he could not fathom.

We can't stay like this forever. The discontent was a foreign concept to the wine-dark apprentice, almost a confabulation drifting from wistful words, though he knew very well of the mourning that weighed upon Duskclan. He had quiet the perceptive eye, despite his youth, and jaded feelings had seen came bulging and beveling their frames. There was little celebration, comfort only found in meager scraps of clouds and fantasies. "I am sure that we will return." Privetpaw began with an almost uncertain inflection, for he knew how destiny often thrashed and drove away from straight paths, though it would always return to its destination in time. He never doubted the verses of his kin, not for a bit. Even so, playing the waiting game made even his claws curl in anticipation. "One day, I am sure Windclan will weaken. Then, we will take what is ours and make those false kings pay for their wrongdoings." As though he had cut his verses straight from the cloth of his mother and mentor, as though the thread lead him to a resounding and resolute ending, the boy spoke with more certitude than he had ever said anything before.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• OOC:
  
• 
• 

  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 6 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

Granitepelt has long dreamt of the day his claws run red with Chilledstar's blood once more, and he can feel the sifting paws of his warriors as they grow idle with boredom as well. Thriftfeather breaks the silence, and the former ShadowClanner's eyes narrow thoughtfully, ears twisting forward. "We can't stay like this forever," the golden warrior says. "Eventually—we'll need to take back camp eventually." The scarred gray tom slinks closer, his mouth tight, a little line swiped across a snow-blind muzzle. Privetpaw sits nearby, murmuring his agreement.

"We will take what is ours and make those false kings fall."

Granitepelt nods slowly. "You're right. Perhaps we have waited long enough." He glances behind him, to where the sun gilds the browned grasses of the scrubland, to where the sky disappears into a sunken horizon. There, in emptiness, he sees a tattered ebony face, blue eyes like chips of frozen water.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Granitekit . Granitepaw . Granitepelt, he/him w/ masculine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 23 moons old, ages realistically on the 10th.
  — mentored by Pitchstar and Dogfur ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored Applepaw
  — "duskclan" leader. flint x sandra, gen 2.
  — formerly mated to Starlingheart, currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh blue and white tom with dark green eyes. arrogant, stealthy, sneaky, observant, perceptive, cunning, spiteful, envious.
  
  

​